


I've Got Electric Eyes (I Can Get You High)

by lemonicee



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Anal Sex, Band Fic, Dressing Room Sex, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, M/M, Margo Wants To Watch, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, just weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23345212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonicee/pseuds/lemonicee
Summary: The Physical Kids are a pop-punk band. Quentin is their reluctant producer.
Relationships: Margo Hanson/Josh Hoberman, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	I've Got Electric Eyes (I Can Get You High)

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @likearecord. Ride or die.
> 
> Look, my heart is stuck in 2008. Cobra Starship 4 Lyfe. Just roll with it.

WANTED: Production bottom for pop-punk debut album. Must be able to translate my lady dick energy to digital form. We bring the bangerz, you bring the sweet button pushing, together we make beautiful music. $2600 for 13 songs.  


\-------------------------------------------------------------

“Absoutely fucking not.” Quentin shoves the laptop back across the table at Julia. “What even is that?”

“It’s a band looking for a producer,” Julia says, in a tone that means she thinks Quentin is being a dumbass. “And you are a producer.”

Quentin sighs, trying not to roll his eyes. “I’m not a producer. I did one song for Marina.”

“One really good song.” Julia points her biscotti at him, then dips it in her latte. “It has over two million likes on Youtube last time I looked.”

Which, yes. Sure. That is a true statement. But that doesn’t mean Quentin is a producer. He doesn’t know anything about music. When Jules asked if he would help her friend with a song, he said yes because Marina was offering to pay him. He could hit record on a laptop as well as anyone, so why not? This wasn’t a _career_ path, though. It was a one-time thing for some extra money while he tried to get into Yale.

“This is ridiculous,” Quentin says. “I’m not doing it. Plus, these people seem crazy. Lady dick energy? Who says that?”

“Too late.” Julia grins at him. “I sent them a link to Marina’s song and they want to meet with you tomorrow.”

“No way.” Quentin leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ll just have to cancel.”

Julia sighs. “Look, it can’t hurt to go talk to them. They’re offering money. If the meeting is terrible, you just tell them no. But at least give it a shot, Q. It might be fun.”

She digs a Post-It out of her bag and leans across the table to stick it to Quentin’s laptop. “I have to go to class, but here’s the meeting details. Promise me you’ll go?”

Goddammit. Quentin can’t say no to Julia’s puppy dog eyes and she knows it. Also, she has a point: they are offering money. “Fine,” he says. “I promise.”

Julia beams at him as she gets up, gathering her bag and leaning over to kiss him on the forehead. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”

Quentin closes his laptop as she walks away, leaning over to rest his cheek on the cool aluminum casing. He needs a fucking cigarette.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“This music is shit. You made shit. You should feel like shit.” The angriest Russian man Eliot has ever seen gets up, shakes his head like Eliot and Margo have _personally_ slighted him, and slouches out of the room. The loft’s heavy wooden door slams behind him.

“All of these people suck, Bambi.” Eliot tosses aside another jump drive with another shitty demo on it, this one labeled ‘Mayakovsky’, and sinks back into the couch. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Because we need an actual fucking producer.” Margo cuts her eyes at him, clearly annoyed. Eliot doesn’t care. 

“Penny did a great job last time,” Eliot says, with as much conviction as he can muster. Penny did a… serviceable job producing their first single. Unfortunately, Youtube videos and GarageBand only get you so far. Eliot’s head is throbbing, though, and his high is wearing off, and he if he has to listen to another over-produced, painfully autotuned demo, he’s going to lose his fucking mind. 

“One more,” Margo says. She hands him a jump drive and looks down at her notebook. “Quentin Coldwater. He was supposed to be here five --”

There’s a knock on the door, cutting her off. Eliot hauls himself out of the depths of the couch and goes to open it. Standing on the other side of the loft’s door is one of the actual hottest guys Eliot has ever seen. He’s shorter than Eliot, with a wide mouth and long hair falling across his face. Eliot wants to _eat_ him.

“Quentin Coldwater?” he purrs. At Quentin’s nod he opens the door wider. “Come in. You’re late.”

He leans his hip against the door, taking up just enough room that Quentin has to squeeze by him to get into the loft. He glances up at Eliot with wide eyes, hair brushing against Eliot’s chest. Elot smirks down at him, letting his eyes drag over Quentin’s pretty face, down to his nondescript button up and jeans. Quentin blushes under his gaze and Eliot’s mind is made up. 

They are hiring Quentin Coldwater to produce their album. 

Luckily, Quentin’s demo is good. Like, really fucking good. The girl singing is just okay, but Quentin has managed to make her sound on-key, without making the whole track sound like an autotuned dumpster fire. Eliot is legitimately impressed, which is not something that happens often.

Margo is absolutely beaming by the time the song ends, all white teeth and bright eyes. “You’re hired,” she coos. 

Eliot has never loved her more. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“The Physical Kids?” Julia squints up at the marquee. “Marina said their single is good.”

Quentin shrugs. “They were...interesting, I guess?” Interesting and attractive. And weird. And attractive. And interesting.

After Margo announced he was hired, she’d invited him to their show the next night. (“I’ll put _your_ sweet little face on the guest list.”) Quentin accepted because, well, he was interested. Plus, Marina was right. Their single was good. 

So here he is, standing outside The Library. It’s a right of passage for any up and coming band to play here and it’s a good sign that The Physical Kids have been asked. They’re opening for a girl Quentin has never heard of, but Julia seems stoked to be his plus one, so she can’t be too bad. 

Inside, the pre-show music is pulsing and the place is packed wall-to-wall with college kids. Quentin follows Julia to the bar, relieved when she pushes a cold beer into his hand just as the lights dim. 

Margo stalks onto the stage, followed by Eliot. Quentin is vaguely aware of another guy and a couple of girls spilling onto the stage, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off Eliot. Onstage, Eliot swings a keytar over his shoulder, and turns to adjust his mic. He’s wearing a ridiculous shirt with a popped collar, and holding a ridiculous instrument, and somehow, he’s making it all look ridiculously hot. Quentin isn’t sure if he’s jealous of Eliot, attracted to Eliot, or both. 

“Hello, bitches.” Margo pulls the mic off the stand, grabbing Quentin’s attention away from Eliot. Her voice is low and husky, filling the small room. The crowd can’t help but listen. 

A small blonde girl behind the drums strikes up a rhythm that Quentin can feel in his chest. Margo bounces on the balls of her feet and grins at the crowd. “We’re The Physical Kids and we’re here to fuck you up.”

The crowd cheers as they launch into their first song, with a catchy hook that Quentin finds himself bobbing along to without even noticing. Margo has stage presence in spades, Quentin can feel it from across the room. The entire audience is in her palm of her hand by the time she hits the last note. 

Quentin claps along with the crowd, suddenly feeling less apprehensive about his life choices. If nothing else, they have actual talent. That’s more than he could say for Marina. 

Eliot crosses to the center of the stage and slings an arm around Margo’s shoulders, leaning in to share her mic. “Give it up for our high king Margo Hanson, everyone,” Eliot intones. The crowd screams again as Eliot kisses Margo’s cheek and steals the mic from her hand. 

“I wrote this next song at a low point in my life,” Eliot says into the mic, twisting the long cord in his fingers as he speaks. “Lucky for you, it’s a fucking bop. This is Dicks and Daddy Issues.”

He hands the mic back to Margo with a flourish and practically spins around the stage. Quentin is mesmerized. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Eliot is not waiting for Quentin to come backstage. He is simply standing close to the dressing room door, keeping an eye on the comings and goings. 

He does, however, attach himself to Quentin’s side the second he steps in the room. “Eliot Waugh, songwriting, keytar, and magic.” He offers his hand to the girl standing beside Quentin.

“Julia Wicker, you guys were great.” The girl shakes his hand. “Q can’t wait to work with you.”

Beside her, Quentin rolls his eyes. “You sound like my mom,” he says, sounding pained. 

Not his girlfriend, Eliot decides. With that out of the way, he hooks his arm through Quentin’s. “Let me introduce you,” he says, tugging Quentin deeper into the room. 

He introduces Quentin to their drummer first. Alice Quinn is tiny and always looks pissed at the world, but she’s smart as fuck and doesn’t take any shit. Eliot likes her, but getting there was a process. 

She smiles up at Quentin, her face doing something as close to flirty as Eliot has ever seen from her. Eliot glares at her over Quentin’s shoulder until he catches her eye. “Dibs,” he mouths, staring her down. 

Alice rolls her eyes. “Nice to meet you,” she says to Quentin. “Don’t let Eliot and Margo scare you off.”

Eliot flips her off and tugs Quentin away. Enough of that. 

“Don’t mind her,” he says. “She’s mostly harmless.” 

Penny and Kady are next. Eliot stops to make himself and Quentin two very strong drinks from their makeshift bar. One needs a shot or two of vodka before meeting Penny. 

He hands Quentin a drink and leads him to the corner where Penny and Kady are canoodling. He clears his throat twice before they manage to separate their faces and look at him. 

“What?” Penny says, then in Quentin’s direction, “Who the fuck is he?”

“Be nice,” Kady says. She extracts herself from Penny’s lap and stands up to shake Quentin’s hand. “You must be the producer?”

“Quentin Coldwater, Kady Orloff-Diaz. Kady Orloff-Diaz, Quentin Coldwater. Kady is on lead guitar. She’s a badass.” Eliot waves his hand between them, then points down at the chair. “And that’s Penny. Bass. Dick.”

“Fuck you,” Penny says. However, he does produce two joints out of nowhere and hand one to Eliot. “Hoberman left this for you, you’re welcome for not smoking it.”

Eliot tucks the joint behind his ear. “Love you, too,” he chirps in Penny’s direction, before he pulls Quentin away. 

He is pleased to find that Margo has made friends with Julia while he was taking Quentin on the tour. The two girls are curled up on a ratty couch, sharing a bottle of wine. 

Margo points at them with the mouth of the bottle as they approach. “Julia tells me,” she drawls. “That our boy Q is going to _Yale_.”

“Yale?” Eliot raises an eyebrow at Quentin, surprised. “Fancy.”

“I applied.” Quentin shrugs and ducks behind his hair. “So. Yeah. We’ll see.”

“Pretty _and_ smart.” Eliot plucks the joint from behind his ear and digs in his pocket for a lighter. “How did we get so lucky?” 

“We’re blessed by goddesses.” Margo pushes the wine at Julia and tips her head back over the arm of the couch, looking at Eliot upside down. “I keep fucking telling you that.”

Eliot lights the joint and takes a drag, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. “Maybe you’re right, Bambi.” He watches Quintin take the bottle from Julia and take a long swig, his throat bobbing as he swallows. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. 

He might be a little bit screwed here. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“You can’t be serious,” Quentin looks at Margo, hoping she’ll laugh. She does not. “You can’t name a song Ovary Up.”

“First, I can name it whatever the fuck I want,” Margo says, holding up one manicured finger. Then another. “Two, The full title is Ovary Up (Save the Scene or Die Trying), and it’s a metaphor.”

Quentin sighs. “A metaphor for what?”

He’s at the loft, which is fucking huge. A college graduation gift from Margo’s parents, according to Eliot. Margo had asked him over for a “strategy meeting”, but they weren’t getting very far. 

“The scene,” Margo says. “It’s a metaphor for the scene and how women need to save it from the goddamn mediocre white men.”

“Easy, Bambi.” Quentin turns his head to see Eliot coming from the kitchen, followed by Alice. He’s holding a tray of iced martini glasses filled with blue liquid. “Let’s get a couple of drinks in the boy first. He needs to be on our level.”

“Always drunk?” Quentin deadpans, arching an eyebrow at Eliot.

Eliot grins at him in reply. “Exactly.”

One hour and four drinks later, Quentin is definitely on their level. He feels loose and warm, and all of Margo’s absurdness is starting to make sense.

“You see,” she’s saying, waving a cigarette in one hand. They’re all outside on her enormous balcony, sprawled over chaise lounges and chain smoking. “The point isn’t to like, win Grammys or whatever. It’s to remind people that music is fucking _fun_ and doesn’t have to be something meaningful or deep to make you want to dance.”

Eliot nods. He’s smoking some brand of pretentious hipster cigarettes Quentin has never heard of, because of course he is. “Exactly. If everyone leaves our show feeling a little more magical than they did when they showed up, we win.”

“Yeah, but we still want the music to be _good_.” Alice is leaning against the balcony, the only one of them not smoking. “No one wants to dance to shitty music.”

Quentin can’t quite get a read on her. She seems so out of place, in her prim, high necked tops and thick tights covering her legs under her miniskirt. The rest of the band, on the other hand, is all leather and unbuttoned shirts and midriffs. 

“Then it’s a good thing we don’t make shitty music.” Eliot taps out another long cigarette and lights it. The brief flicker of flame lights up the angles of his face in the fading evening light. He looks like a sculpture, Quentin thinks. Like living marble.

He’s jostled out of his drunken meditation on Eliot’s face by Margo stubbing out her cigarette and standing up. She’s had at least twice as much alcohol as Quentin has, but she’s perfectly steady on her feet. 

“Enough talking. More doing.” She points a finger at Alice. “You, order food.” Eliot and Quentin are next. “You two, go set up the studio. I’ll make more drinks.”

“You have a _studio_ in this place?” Quentin asks, looking up at Eliot as the two girls disappear back into the apartment. 

“Sort of.” Eliot makes a face. “We have a walk-in closet that Margo sacrificed so we could set up a mic and a keyboard. We have to rent a place to make any actual music, but this works in a pinch.”

Eliot was underselling it a bit. The fully soundproofed walk-in closet is almost as big as the apartment Quentin shares with Julia. There is, as advertised, a mic and a keyboard. There’s also a sound board, a guitar in the corner, and a full bar set up in what looks like it used to be a shoe nook. 

“Shit,” Quentin tries not to sound a little intimidated as he takes it all in. He’d recorded Marina in his much smaller closet with a laptop and a mic Julia ordered off Amazon. Compared to that, this feels fucking professional. 

“And you haven’t even seen the best part.” Eliot pushes a hidden button under a shelf and a glass compartment, clearly meant to display jewelry, slides out. It is full of weed. Each carefully labeled section has a neat line of buds in various shades of green. Eliot opens the glass, releasing the thick smell of marijuana into the air, and selects one. The label reads “Tangerine Dreams.”

“I didn’t know you worked for Snoop Dogg,” Quentin says dryly. He does, however, accept the grinder that Eliot pushes into his hand. 

“Margo’s boyfriend has a side hustle.” Eliot slides out another drawer, this one full of glassware. “We reap the benefits.”

“Gross.” Margo comes up behind Eliot and reaches around him to grab a swirly purple glass pipe. “Never use that word in the same sentence as my name.”

Eliot closes the drawer and takes the grinder back from Quentin. “Oh, I’m _sorry_ , Margo’s _fuck buddy_ has a side hustle.”

Margo nods in approval. “Better. Now are you going to get us high or just stand around saying gross words.”

“My apologies, your majesty.” Eliot half bows to Margo as he starts twisting the grinder, his hair falling over his eyes. 

Quentin follows the exchange like a tennis match, and by the time Eliot hands him the pipe, he’s smiling. He should probably buy Julia a beer and tell her she was right, this was a good idea.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

They have another planning meeting two days later. This time, to decide on days to book a studio and discuss a track list. Margo has been hard at work, compiling a rough cut of demos, a mix of older stuff Penny worked on and the newer music they’d spent a whole night recording in the closet. 

Eliot’s job is to bring home booze. He’s barely in the front door, arms full of brown paper bags, before Margo descends on him. “Warning,” she stage whispers. “Alice is trying to flirt with Q.”

“Ew.” Eliot puts the bags on the bar and looks across the counter into the living room. Sure enough, Alice is sitting on the couch beside Quentin, leaning into his space to see something on his phone. 

“That’s stupid,” she giggles. “You’re stupid. You have a stupid face.”

Then, she literally bats her eyelashes.

Eliot narrows his eyes. This will not do.

“Q,” he drawls, dragging the letter out. Quentin looks up and his whole face breaks into a smile when he sees Eliot. It’s gorgeous _and_ gratifying. 

“You brought wine.” Quentin stands up, pushing his phone back into his pocket, and crosses to the bar. Behind him, Alice scowls at Eliot. 

He pours a glass of wine and takes it to her. “I called dibs,” he hisses as he bends over to hand her the glass.

“Fuck off, Eliot,” she mutters, glowering so hard that Eliot is afraid she’s going to get a permanent forehead wrinkle. She takes the glass, though. Eliot hopes that means he’s won. 

He leaves her on the couch and goes back to the bar, carefully draping himself next to Quentin. “I wrote some lyrics for you to look over,” he says. He leans in closer, and lowers his voice suggestively. “Some of them are dirty.”

Q laughs, his eyes crinkling adorably. All of his focus is on Eliot now, which is quickly becoming one of Eliot’s favorite things. “I can handle dirty.”

“I’m sure you can.” Eliot touches Quentin’s wrist, brushes his thumb over the bone there. He hears Quentin’s breath hitch and looks up, meets Quentin’s eyes.

Then the front door slams hard enough to shake the whole apartment, and the moment is gone. 

“I hope you fuckers have decent food.” Penny’s voice comes from the entry. “If it’s all salad and gluten free bullshit, I’m leaving.”

“Fuck you,” Margo says, crossing her arms as Penny comes into view, followed by Kady. “You can’t quit the band every time you don’t like the food we order.”

“We ordered Chinese,” Quentin offers from beside Eliot. He looks so earnest, like maybe he doesn’t realize that Penny is just a huge asshole. 

“Why is this fucker still around?” Penny takes the open bottle of wine and takes a swing, not bothering with a glass. 

Kady takes the bottle from Penny and hops up to sit on the counter. “He’s producing the album, babe. We’ve discussed this.” She turns to Quentin. “Margo sent me the stuff you guys worked on, it’s good.”

“Thanks.” Quentin ducks his head a little, hair falling across his eyes. Eliot wants to push it back, tuck it behind Q’s ear. He somehow resists. 

Instead, he reaches over to open another bottle of wine. He has a feeling that it’s going to be a long night. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

It turns out that Quentin definitely realizes that Penny is an asshole. 

Eliot knows this because later, after Penny and Kady are gone, Quentin lights a cigarette and says, “Why is that asshole even in your band?”

They’re on the balcony again, the night time glitter of the city surrounding them. Alice is still there, sitting in a lounge chair that Eliot is sure didn’t used to be that close to the one Quentin is sitting on. Maybe her acceptance of his wine _wasn’t_ a concession of defeat. 

That’s unfortunate.

“Well,” Eliot says. He’s leaning against the balcony, tapping ash from his cigarette out into the night air. “He wasn’t originally in the band. We used to have a guy named Todd on bass, but he was too stupid to live, so I fired him.”

“Bullshit,” Margo says at the same time Alice says “his name wasn’t Todd.”

“It most certainly was.” Eliot chooses to focus on Alice’s easily disprovable statement. 

“No,” Alice sighs. “His name was, is, Elliot. Two Ls.”

“Oh my God, that’s _right_ ,” Margo sits up in her lounge chair, gleefully pointing her vape pen at Eliot. “I totally fucking forgot.”

Eliot leans forward and snags the pen from her hand, then takes a long drag. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You absolutely fucking do.” Margo is still smirking as she reclaims her pen. “The day we met him you asked him what his name was. He said Elliot. Then you made him _change_ it.”

“You did what?” Quentin looks up at Eliot, the corners of his mouth curling up in amusement. 

“I didn’t make him change his name.” Eliot rolls his eyes and flicks more ash over the balcony. “I just suggested he go by his middle name to avoid confusion.”

“That’s not the worst part.” Margo says, offering the pen to Quentin. “Eliot fired him _on stage_ ”

Quentin takes the pen. Eliot watches his mouth as he sucks on the metal mouthpiece. 

“It was not a big deal.” Eliot drags his eyes away from Quentin. “He was too stupid to realize I was serious so we just finished the set like normal.”

“It was short-sighted,” Alice chimes in. Eliot wishes she’d stop doing that. “We had another gig the next night and Eliot fired Todd for real after the show, so we had to take who we could get. In this case, who we could get was Kady’s asshole boyfriend and now we’re stuck with him until we all die.”

“Well, that’s dire,” Eliot says “At worst, we’re stuck with him until Kady gets over his dick and dumps him.”

“Poor Todd.” Quentin is shaking his head, and Eliot would take offense, except that Quentin is also smiling at him. A soft, fond smile that Eliot thinks he might die for.

Eliot puts out his cigarette and goes to sit on the edge of Quentin’s lounger. He leans against Quentin’s pulled up legs, the contact burning through his thin shirt. 

“I really, really hated him.” Eliot turns to face Quentin, resting his chin on his hand and his hand on Quentin’s knee. “You have no idea how terrible it was.”

“It was not that bad,” Alice says. “Although Penny is a better bass player, douchebag or not.”

Eliot nods at Alice, pleased she finally got something right.. “So, as you can see,” he says to Quentin. “I made the right choice.”

“What if Penny and Kady get married?” Quentin blinks at Eliot, his face the picture of innocence.

Eliot sits up straighter. “Never say that again,” he says, as solemnly as possible. “Or I will have to sacrifice you to the gods to prevent it.”

“The gods do love a virgin sacrifice,” Margo muses. 

Quentin pushes his hair back and glares at Margo. He looks tipsily offended. “I am not a virgin.”

“Good to know.” Eliot makes eye contact with Quentin, who doesn’t turn away. “Good to fucking know.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“You know Eliot is flirting with you, right?” Julia leans against the bar at Neitherlands, the venue hosting The Physical Kids that night. They’re set to go into the studio the next day, so this is their chance to stage-test new music before they record it. 

To that end, Quentin has brought a notebook. 

“What? No he isn’t.” Quentin looks up from his notes, well, his pre-notes. The band hasn’t gone on stage yet. “I mean, he is. But he’s Eliot, he flirts with literally everyone. He flirts with trees when he gets high enough.”

Julia shrugs. “Maybe.” She does not look or sound convinced. She taps her cigarette on the ashtray on the bar and says, with that same cautious tone, “I _think_ Alice is also flirting with you?”

Before Quentin can say anything else, the lights dim and the band’s intro music starts playing. 

His goal is to write down general crowd reactions to each song on the playlist. If they don’t have enough studio time to record everything and sort it out later, he wants to know which ones get the least interest. 

He gets distracted halfway through the second song. Eliot goes to his knees during the second chorus, his fingers dancing across the keys as he sings along with Margo and the crowd. His tie has come loose and his hair is curling across his face. Quentin knows he’s staring, but he doesn’t notice how hard until Julia jostles his arm and he realizes his mouth his open. 

Julia is smirking at him. He flips her off and turns back to his notebook, glad for the darkness of the bar. It means Julia can’t see him blushing. 

When he looks back up, Eliot is leaning against Margo’s golden mic stand, one arm slung over her shoulder. Behind them, Penny tosses Kady a bottle of water. 

“This song is called Champagne King,” Eliot says into the mic. “Margo wrote it about me.”

“He wrote it about himself.” Margo wraps her arm around Eliot’s waist and leans in closer. “I just put it to music.”

“But that makes me sound vain.” Eliot pouts at Margo, who pulls on his loose tie and kisses his cheek before she pushes him back to his side of the stage. 

“To quote Thomas Jefferson,” Margo says, as Alice strikes up a beat. “If the shoe fits, wear it.”

The crowd yells, Eliot puts a faux-wounded hand on his heart, and they launch into the song. 

They’re back at the loft for the afterparty. Quentin’s lost track of the drinks he’s had, but he feels good. He’s passing a joint back and forth with Eliot, who is sprawled on the couch beside him. Margo is holding court on the patio. Her not-boyfriend, Josh Hoberman, is sitting behind her on a lounge chair, rubbing her shoulders as she talks to the people gathered around her. 

Penny and Kady vanished into the guest room an hour ago, and Alice is on Quentin’s other side, perched on the arm of the sofa. She declines when Quentin offers her the joint. 

He passes it back to Eliot instead and leans back into the couch. Julia is still here somewhere, he thinks, with her boyfriend, James. He considers getting up to find her, but Eliot shifts closer beside him, pressing their hips and thighs together. Quentin stays put. 

“Q,” Eliot says, handing the joint back and cupping his hand under Quentin’s chin, tipping his head up until their eyes meet. “How do you feel about party games?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“Spin the bottle,” Alice frowns at Eliot. “Are we in middle school?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Margo says, plunking a beer bottle down in the middle of the circle Eliot had gathered in the living room. “You’re welcome to leave.”

The couch and coffee table have been pushed out of the way to make room for a circle of about 12 people. Alice sighs in annoyance, but doesn’t get up. 

Margo puts her hand on the bottle and spins it. They all watch it rotate, following the mouth of the bottle as it slows down and eventually comes to a stop right in front of Fen, the college student who works at the band’s merch table.

“Come here, baby,” Margo coos. She throws a wink at Josh and crawls across the circle to kiss Fen on the mouth. Everyone in the circle whoops, and Fen turns pink. She spins the bottle and lands on a guy Quentin doesn’t know, who kisses her, spins the bottle, and lands on Julia. Julia laughs and shrugs at James before she leans over and lets the guy give her a quick peck. 

Julia spins it next and lands on Quentin. There was a time in Quentin’s life where he would have been thrilled at the chance to kiss Julia, but tonight he’s just relieved it’s not a stranger. 

“Should I be worried?” James jokes, leaning around Julia to grin at Quentin.

Quentin laughs. “Yes,” he says, mock serious. 

He puts his hands in the middle of the circle so he can get close enough to kiss Julia. It’s brief and warm, and then she’s gone and it’s his turn to spin the bottle. He gives it his best shot, and watches, his breath catching, as the bottle slows in its spin, headed for the corner where Margo, Eliot, and Alice are leaning against the couch. He can feel at least four sets of eyes trained intently on the innocuous green glass as it stutters, rolls a bit, and comes to a stop--pointing directly at Alice.

Quentin looks up in time to catch Eliot’s eyes narrow slightly. He offers Alice a sheepish smile and leans in to meet her halfway. It’s a nice enough kiss. Alice’s lips are warm and soft and smooth. He lets it linger a few seconds and then pulls back, clearing his throat as he takes another sip of his drink. Alice spins the bottle, it lands on Fen. 

“Are you sure it’s not aimed at me?” Margo says, narrowing her eyes at the bottle.

“Fuck off, Margo,” Fen says, smiling brightly as she leans in to kiss Alice with tongue. The game goes on. 

Quentin can’t stop wishing the bottle had stopped just a little bit sooner.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

The first day in the studio is a bitch. No, scratch that. The first day in the studio, _Eliot_ is a bitch. A very salty bitch. Foiled by five inches of momentum. 

“I bet she did something to it,” he grumbles, secure in the knowledge that only Margo can hear his whining. Everyone else has gone in search of lunch, leaving them alone. “The bottle.” 

“Yeah, right,” Margo snorts. “Some kind of witchcraft.”

Eliot glares at her. “Yes. Witchcraft.”

“You like a boy.” Margo points one long, blood red nail at him. “Like, you _like_ a boy.”

Eliot opens his mouth to protest, then closes it. She’s right. He hates when Margo is right. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters. “It’s not a big deal.”

Margo tilts her head, studying him. She knows him better than anyone, which means she knows that it is a big deal. Eliot doesn’t usually do crushes or relationships or any other romantic attachments that might end in heartbreak. _His_ heartbreak.

“El,” Margo says, her voice gentle in a way that Eliot isn’t used to hearing from her. She puts a hand on his shoulder and he resists the urge to shrug it off. “You’re allowed to like Quentin. I think it’s probably mutual.”

Eliot raises an eyebrow at her skeptically. “Oh you do?”

“Q isn’t blind or stupid.” Margo shrugs. “How could he resist?”

“Witchcraft,” Eliot reminds her. “Pretty, blonde witchcraft.”

Margo shakes her head. “He’s smarter than that. Plus, Alice has been practically throwing herself at him and I’m not even sure he’s noticed.”

“Then what makes you think he’ll notice if I do it?” Eliot asks. He touches the lighter in his pocket and thinks longingly of the smooth burn of cigarette smoke in his lungs. Unfortunately, the studio walls are littered with “no smoking” signs, so he just sighs and glares at the wall. 

Margo laughs and Eliot turns his glare on her, but she waves him off. “Somehow, I have a feeling you’re far more skilled at the art of seduction than Alice Quinn.”

“I fucking hope so,” Eliot says. There’s no annoyance behind it, though. Margo has a point. 

She grins at him, clearly pleased that her little pep talk hit the mark. “Get him, tiger,” she says, making a clawing motion in the air. 

This time, Eliot laughs. “Thanks, Bambi,” He leans into her and she tips her head onto his shoulder affectionately. 

“Anytime, baby.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Quentin is tired. 

It’s the third day in the studio and they’ve been at it since 9 am. A glance at his watch proves it’s later than he thought, almost midnight. His eyes are burning and he can feel the thrum of too much caffeine in his heartbeat. The door to the actual recording booth is closed, mics turned off, but he can still hear the faint rise and fall of voices. Penny and Margo have been arguing over the same song for what feels like hours. Penny wants more guitar, Margo wants more vocals. Quentin thinks it probably doesn’t need either, but he’s too exhausted to join the argument. 

The door to the booth swings open and Margo stalks out, followed by the rest of the band. “I’m going home,” she announces. “Penny can be wrong some more tomorrow.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Penny growls. Kady puts a hand on his arm, though, and he stops, huffing out a breath as she leads him out of the studio towards the parking lot. 

“Home sounds great.” Alice pauses on her way to the door, turning to look at Quentin. “You coming, Q?”

“In a minute.” Quentin waves a hand at the still active sound board in front of him. “I just need to shut all of this down.”

“I’ll wait.” Eliot leans a hip against the wall beside the soundboard. “Wouldn’t want you to get kidnapped out there, alone in the dark.”

Quentin smiles at him and Eliot’s lips quirk up in return. Eliot’s eyes drop to his mouth and Quention feels a sharp pang of desire, there and gone before he can examine it too deeply. Alice is stopped by the open door, hesitating like she doesn’t want to leave him alone with Eliot.

_All _Quentin wants is to be left alone with Eliot.__

__Luckily, Margo comes to the rescue, looping her arm through Alice’s and tugging the other girl out the door. “C’mon,” Margo says. “We can share an Uber.”_ _

__Then they’re gone, the door closing behind them. Eliot watches as Quentin turns off the sound board. The click of the buttons seems to echo through the empty studio. When the last light from the board indicators fades away, Quentin looks up to see Eliot studying him. He feels his face go hot, but Eliot doesn’t say anything._ _

__To Quentin’s surprise, Eliot sits on the floor beside his chair, legs crossed and looking up at Quentin._ _

__“Come here.” Eliot pats the floor in front of him. He gives Quentin an expectant look and Quentin finds himself sliding off of his chair and onto the scratched hardwood floor, so close to Eliot that their knees are almost touching._ _

__Eliot produces a bottle from seemingly nowhere. The same brand of green beer bottle from the game at the party. He sets it on the ground between them and Quentin suddenly sees where this is going. His stomach drops and his lungs go tight, tension vibrating in the air around them._ _

__“The game didn’t really go how I wanted the other night,” Eliot says. His long fingers rest lightly on the bottle, turning it back and forth, not quite spinning it. “So I thought maybe we could try again, with fewer variables.”_ _

__“Yeah, okay.” Quentin hears himself talking, but he can’t remember forming the words. All he can see is Eliot’s hand as he spins the bottle between them. Quentin looks up, meets Eliot’s eyes, and before the bottle can even stop spinning, Eliot’s mouth is on his._ _

__It’s nothing like kissing Alice. Eliot’s lips are hot against Quentin’s and the scrape of his stubble over Quentin’s chin burns all the way down his chest. Quentin reaches up and sinks his fingers into Eliot’s hair, twisting curls around his fingers. He licks into Eliot’s mouth and Eliot gasps into it as Quentin pushes up on his knees, trying to get closer. Eliot’s hands slide down his ribs and settle on his hips, tugging Quentin across the space between them. He goes easily, crawling into Eliot’s lap, knees bracketing Eliot’s hips._ _

__Quentin presses himself against Eliot, stifling a moan as Eliot’s hands push up, under Quentin’s shirt, to press hot against his skin. He can feel the hard, hot line of Eliot’s cock when their hips grind together and desire shoots through him again._ _

__“Eliot,” he breathes. He tugs at Eliot’s hair, tipping his head back so Quentin can drag his mouth down, scraping teeth over Eliot’s jaw._ _

__He lifts his head to kiss Eliot again, but before he gets the chance, two things happen at once. Eliot’s phone goes off, vibrating and trilling between them, and the door slams open as a guy in a uniform pushes a janitor’s cart into the room._ _

__“Fuck,” Eliot growls, digging his phone out of his pocket as Quentin scrambles off his lap and gets to his feet._ _

__The janitor pops his gum, unimpressed. “Y’all gotta go,” he says, wheeling his cart further into the room._ _

__“We’re going.” Quentin tugs Eliot to his feet. Eliot barely even looks in the janitor’s direction, too busy arguing with Margo on the phone._ _

__“We are not changing that line,” Eliot says. “I don’t care what your Uber driver thinks about it.”_ _

__Quentin rolls his eyes and grabs Eliot’s hand, muttering an apology as he drags Eliot around the cart and out of the studio. He stops when they get outside and turns to face Eliot, just as Eliot hangs up on Margo and shoves the phone back into his pocket._ _

__“Come home with me,” Quentin says, the words out of his mouth before he can even think about whether or not he should say them._ _

__\-------------------------------------------------------------_ _

__

__“Come home with me.”_ _

__Eliot blinks at Quentin, surprised. There’s a lot of things he thought Quentin might say after what just happened in the studio, but that...is not one of them._ _

__“Yes,” he says, before Quentin can change his mind. “ _Yes_. Maybe you come home with me, though. I haven’t seen your apartment yet, but I bet my bed is bigger.”_ _

__Quentin laughs and pushes up onto his toes to press a quick kiss to Eliot’s mouth._ _

__Eliot hustles them outside and orders an Uber as fast as he can. He’s on logistics, but Quentin seems to be on libido, leaning against Eliot and kissing him like they don’t have a fifteen minute cab ride, a three minute elevator ride, and a Margo-shaped gauntlet to run before he can get Q naked and underneath him._ _

__“I think you’re going to kill me,” he mumbles mournfully against Quentin’s mouth. His phone says their driver is one minute away. He’s pretty sure it’s going to be the longest minute of his life--a series of the longest minutes of his life._ _

__It is. Something, maybe good manners, keeps Quentin’s mouth to himself for the duration of their uber ride. His hands, though--he keeps absently stroking Eliot’s thigh while he talks to their driver about something Eliot can’t focus on, because Q’s hands are simultaneously way too close to his dick and way too far away from his dick._ _

__They make it to the elevator and Quentin’s manners seem to disappear again. The ride is short but they’re already plastered together, Quentin’s hands under Eliot’s vest, Eliot’s fingers itching to undo Quentin’s jeans. He pulls Quentin out once the doors ding open and fumbles to get his key into the lock. Quentin’s hands slide into his front pockets and Eliot can feel him, pressed against Eliot’s back, up on his toes so he can mouth at Eliot’s neck. He can’t keep his hands steady. He’s certain Margo is inside and can perfectly hear his fumbling attempts to open the door. He finally, _finally_ gets the key slotted in and wrenches it, twisting the knob so the door swings open. _ _

__He turns to face Quentin, pushing him up against the inside of the door and kissing him again. Q wraps his arms around Eliot’s waist and pushes off the door, propelling them deeper into the apartment._ _

__“Boys,” Margo drawls as they stumble into the living room. She’s sprawled on the couch with her feet in Josh’s lap and a joint in her hand, grinning at them._ _

__“She’s a figment of your imagination, Q,” Eliot says, dragging Quentin through the living room before his manners make him stop, trying to keep their mouths pressed together so Quentin doesn’t have a chance to speak._ _

__Quentin laughs, smiling against Eliot’s lips. His hands slide down Eliot’s chest, tugging the buttons on his vest. Eliot can feel Margo’s eyes on them as his vest hits the first step, followed by halfway up by his tie and shirt. He shivers when the cold air hits his skin. He can sense Margo’s eyes on them but he doesn’t mind--he knows how they must look. Thinking about it makes him moan, pressing his dick against Quentin’s hip._ _

__They finally get to his bedroom door and he pushes it open with his shoulder, dragging Quentin in by his belt loops._ _

__“Feel free to leave the door open,” Margo calls after them, her voice echoing up the stairs. Quentin laughs again as Eliot kicks the door shut behind them, cutting off Margo’s voice. He clicks the lock into place and leans back against the door._ _

__Quentin has made it far enough to sprawl on Eliot’s bed. He lost his shirt somewhere along the way and Eliot takes a second to burn the image into his brain before he kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his jeans, shoving them down over his hips and off. He’s naked by the time he gets to bed, and Quentin is staring, his eyes dark and pupils dilated. His gaze follows Eliot’s hand as he drops it and wraps his fingers around his dick, giving it a firm tug._ _

__“El.” Quentin sits up and reaches for Eliot. Eliot wants to stay in this moment forever--Q in his bed, flushed, wanting him. He crawls up the bed, turning his hand to kiss Quentin’s palm when Q cups his cheek._ _

__Quentin rolls his hips up, dragging the rough denim of his jeans across Eliot’s cock. Eliot hisses and drops a hand between them to unzip Quentin’s jeans. “Too many clothes,” he mumbles._ _

__Eliot leans back and helps Quentin wiggle out of the rest of his clothing, then suddenly he has Quentin naked and spread under him. It’s somehow even hotter than he imagined it would be. And he’s imagined it a lot._ _

__He leans over Quentin, bracing his hands over Quentin’s shoulders and lowering himself until they’re pressed together. The hard length of his cock slides against Quentin’s and they both gasp. Quentin drags his leg up, hooking his knee over Eliot’s hip and digging his heel into the back of Eliot’s thigh, pulling him in closer. Eliot drops his head and kisses Quentin, catching Q’s lower lip between his teeth before licking into his mouth._ _

__“Fuck me,” Quentin breathes into the kiss. He pushes his hips up, and Eliot moans, his cock leaking between them as his brain processes what Quentin just said._ _

__Eliot drags his mouth down, scrapes his teeth over the stubble at Quentin’s jawline. “You want my dick in you, baby?”_ _

__“ _Yes_.”Quentin arches underneath him, his eyes fluttering closed as his head falls back against Eliot’s pillow. He’s beautiful, with his kissed-red mouth and flushed skin. Eliot could spend hours learning every inch of Q’s body, but tonight he just wants to show Quentin how good he can make him feel._ _

__Eliot leans over Quentin to dig the lube and some condoms out of the nightstand and has to close his eyes for a second when Quentin’s mouth skims down his neck and his teeth nip at Eliot’s collarbone. He’s already right there, just from the slide of their bare skin, and he needs a minute to not get off right the fuck now._ _

__He sits back on his heels and opens the lube, tipping a generous amount into his hand as Quentin watches, his eyes hot and dark. Eliot has fucked a lot of guys. Like, probably too many guys to ever tell Q about. He’s never wanted any of them this badly, though. None of them made him feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t get inside them. No, all of that is purely Quentin._ _

__When he slides his slick fingers over Quentin’s balls and dips lower, Quentin makes a strangled noise and wraps his hands under his knees, opening himself up wide for Eliot’s fingers. It’s the hottest fucking thing Eliot has ever seen._ _

__“C’mon, El,” Quentin says. He sounds desperate already and they’ve barely even started. “You gotta get something inside me.”_ _

__“Pushy.” Eliot smirks at him as he starts working his fingers into Q’s body, one at a time. The noises Quentin makes as Eliot works in a third finger are fucking addictive. He wants to hear it every day. He twists his fingers in deeper, letting his knuckles drag against Quentin’s prostate, and Q arches off the bed._ _

__That’s all Eliot can take._ _

__He slides his fingers free and makes quick work of the condom and more lube. Quentin reaches for him when he comes closer again, hands sliding up Eliot’s arms to wrap around his shoulders and pull him in. He goes easily, eagerly, nipping at Q’s bottom lip before he fits their mouths together in a desperate, messy kiss._ _

__Quentin drops a hand between them and wraps his fingers around Eliot’s cock, lining them up so Eliot can sink inside him. Q’s body is tight and hot around him and the way he moans when Eliot bottoms out is _everything_. _ _

__They fall into a rhythm, the sounds of their skin sliding together fill the room, punctuated by the quiet, rough noises Q is making every time Eliot drives into him. Eliot would be perfectly happy to do this forever, just him and Quentin in this bed until they both die from sex overdoses._ _

__He can feel the tension building, though, sparking and fizzing under his skin. From the way Quentin is pushing up against him, his head thrown back desperately, Eliot guesses Q is right there with him._ _

__“C’mon.” Eliot drops his hand between them and wraps it around Quentin’s cock, smearing lube and precome over the head and down, jerking Q off fast and dirty. A few twists of his wrist is all it takes for Quentin to cry out underneath him, his body clenching down so hard that Eliot can’t help but follow him over the edge. He gives one last thrust of his hips and his vision whites out as he comes, buried deep inside the heat of Q’s body._ _

__When his brain comes back online, he’s draped across Quentin’s chest. They’re both sweaty and sticky, but Eliot has never felt better._ _

__“Shower, he mumbles, rubbing his face against Q’s shoulder just to admire the slight burn his stubble leaves behind. “Then we do this at least two more times.”_ _

__Quentin laughs as his arm falls around Eliot’s shoulders, the sound vibrating under Eliot’s cheek. “I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”_ _

__“Even better.” Eliot forces himself to move, rolling off the bed and holding a hand out to pull Quentin to his feet. “You won’t be able to leave.”_ _

__“I’m not going anywhere,” Quentin says. His eyes are so warm and sincere that Eliot can’t help but kiss him._ _

__He has no idea what they’re doing, but it feels good. No, more than that._ _

__It feels right._ _

__\-------------------------------------------------------------_ _

__The Physical Kids release their debut album, _Children of Earth_ , three months later. _ _

__“Remember when I showed you the job and you laughed in my face?” Julia asks._ _

__Quentin rolls his eyes. “I did not laugh in your face. Stop exaggerating.”_ _

__They’re standing in front of their apartment building, waiting for the band to pick them up. All Quentin can do is shake his head when a long black limo pulls into the parking lot. Margo _did_ say her parents were financing the album release party. _ _

__Eliot pops out of the sunroof, waving a bottle of champagne at them. “Q, Jules, Jules’s man friend, are you ready to party like it’s 1999?”_ _

__“His name is James,” Julia says. James opens the door for her and she kisses his cheek before climbing in. “You’ve met him like 10 times.”_ _

__Quentin shrugs apologetically at James, who just shakes his head and waves Quentin into the limo after Julia. He only gets halfway in before Eliot’s fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging him across the limo to squeeze between Eliot and Margo. Eliot turns his hand, lacing their fingers together, and presses a kiss to Quentin’s knuckles._ _

__They’re not putting a label on this, on what they’re doing. They’re not overthinking it. They’re taking it as it comes. Right now, that means they’re fucking. A lot. Sometimes they hold hands and kiss in public, but mostly, they’re fucking._ _

__Well, and talking. They talk a lot. They talk about music and movies and what they’ll buy when they’re all rich one day._ _

___(“An island where all my friends can come for drug-filled orgies,” Eliot had said, one hand dragging lazily up Quentin’s stomach._ _ _

___Quentin had laughed and leaned up to kiss him. “Baby, I think that’s just Alice’s mom’s house.”)_ _ _

__The party is a whirlwind. At some point, Quentin loses Eliot to a crowd of fans, so he takes up residence at the bar. He’s several drinks in, tipsy and a little lightheaded, when Eliot reappears in front of him._ _

__“We go on in twenty.” Eliot leans in close, talking against Quentin’s ear. His breath makes Q shiver. “Want to come help me get ready?”_ _

__Quentin tries to think of a smooth answer to that, but he’s suddenly, achingly hard and all he can get out is “Yeah.”_ _

__He tucks his fingers in Eliot’s belt loop and lets himself be led to the back of the room, through a door, through another door, and into a broom closet calling itself a dressing room. There’s barely enough room for both of them to squeeze in between the rickety dressing table on one wall and the uneven clothing rack on the other._ _

__Eliot swears when his head hits the metal rack and Quentin laughs into his mouth. He gets his hands on Eliot’s hips and turns them, backs Eliot against the only spot of bare wall at the back of the room. “Be still, don’t hurt yourself.”_ _

__He kisses Eliot again, then drops to his knees._ _

__“Fuck,” Eliot hisses. Q nuzzles against the hard line of Eliot’s dick, the fabric of his jeans rough against Quentin’s cheek. He pops the button on Eliot’s too-tight jeans and looks up, meeting Eliot’s eyes._ _

__Quentin drags the zipper down and peels Eliot’s pants and underwear down over his hips. “You’re so hot after I suck your dick.” He breathes against Eliot’s cock without breaking eye contact, watches as Eliot shivers. “The audience will appreciate it.”_ _

__“How generous of you.” Eliot’s hand slides into Quentin’s hair and Q leans into it. He lets his eyes close and his mouth fall open as Eliot guides him down until Q’s lips bump against the slick head of his cock. Eliot’s thumb rubs against his lower lip, tugging downwards and Q hears himself whimper as his mouth opens wider and Eliot slides in, hot and heavy on Quentin’s tongue._ _

__He hears Eliot’s head fall back and hit the wall with a soft sound, just as his hips lift up and his dick pushes deeper, until Quentin can’t focus on anything else. His eyes flutter open as Eliot slides almost all the way out._ _

__“Want me to fuck that pretty mouth?” Eliot says as their eyes meet and catch. His long fingers twist tighter in Quentin’s hair and Quentin moans. He presses the heel of his palm against his own dick, trying not to come in his fucking jeans. Eliot is so hot like this, dirty and bossy with all of his focus on Quentin. It makes Q feel like he can do anything._ _

__He nods and flicks his tongue over the head of Eliot’s dick, licking up tangy precome and watching as Eliot sinks his teeth into his lower lip and snaps his hips forward. Quentin takes Eliot all the way down, a skill which took practice but is absolutely worth it to hear the noises Eliot makes when Q swallows around him._ _

__That’s all it takes for Eliot to let go and start rolling his hips, fucking his thick cock down Quentin’s throat. All Quentin can do is dig his fingers into the back of Eliot’s thighs and hold on._ _

__“Touch yourself,” Eliot says above him, his voice thick and rough in a way that goes straight to Quentin’s aching cock. He somehow manages to fumble his jeans open and get his dick out, moaning at the first touch of his own hand. Eliot swears and pulls harder at Q’s hair, so Quentin does it again, making noise deep in his throat as he strokes his cock, matching the rhythm of Eliot’s hips._ _

__This is not going to take long, Eliot’s rhythm is already getting erratic and Quentin can feel his orgasm building, pleasure sparking down his spine. He sucks harder, drags the flat of his tongue against the underside of Eliot’s cock, and hears Eliot growl out his name right before he comes down Quentin’s throat, salty and hot. It’s all Quentin can take, and his whole body shudders as he comes all over his own hand._ _

__Eliot’s cock slides free of his lips and Quentin blinks up at him, light headed and trying to catch his breath. He can’t help the soft sound he makes at how Eliot looks, though, with his flushed skin and his bottom lip swollen and red from biting it. Everyone in the audience is going to want to fuck him when he gets on that stage._ _

__Unfortunately for all of them, Quentin is the only one going home with Eliot tonight._ _

__“Hey,” he says, his voice scratchy as he gets to his feet and grabs a couple of Margo’s makeup wipes to clean his hand off. “Quick question.”_ _

__Eliot looks up from where he’s attempting to straighten out his clothes and hair. His efforts are only somewhat effective. He tilts his head at Quentin, questioning, and Q grins at him._ _

__“Wanna be my boyfriend?”_ _

__Eliot smiles at him, bright as the sun, and steps forward to slide his arms around Quentin’s waist and pull him close. Quentin wraps his arms around Eliot’s shoulders and tips his head back, suddenly a little nervous._ _

__“Yeah,” Eliot says, pressing his mouth against Quentin’s, still smiling into the kiss. “Fuck yeah.”_ _

__There’s a loud rap on the door and Margo’s voice comes through the thin wood. “Put your dicks away and get out here,” she calls. “We’re on in like two minutes.”_ _

__“Come on,” Quentin pulls back and crosses to the door, opening it just as Margo’s heels click away down the hall. “Let’s go make a bunch of teenagers wish they were me.”_ _

__

__\-------------------------------------------------------------_ _


End file.
